


feel the heat with somebody who loves me

by inkwelled



Series: starmoraweek2018 [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: 70's Music, Dancing, Date Night, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gamora (Marvel) Lives, Gamora in a Crop Top, Happy with a Happy Ending, Heavy Petting, Night Clubbing, Rollerblades & Rollerskates, Sloppy Makeouts, Starmora Week 2018, They're In Love Leave Them Alone, making out in a bathroom, night life, they're horny teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 05:37:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15879636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: day two ; on a love that burns hot enough to last— the night life is just starting, the street pounding with the music that pours from every crevice from the club they’re waiting outside of.





	feel the heat with somebody who loves me

**Author's Note:**

> title ; [i wanna dance with somebody](https://genius.com/Whitney-houston-i-wanna-dance-with-somebody-who-loves-me-lyrics) by [whitney houston](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHiICA7XGHo)
> 
> this is the second time in two days i've broken my under 3k rule. psh. whatever.
> 
> enjoy!

They’re not even inside, and his heart jumps with every bass drop. 

Under the cover of flickering streetlights, no one notices (or mentions) Gamora and the differences in skin tone. The night life is just starting; the street pounding with the music that pours from every crevice from the club they’re waiting outside of. In front of Peter, Gamora sets her hands on her hips with impatience and sighs. He chuckles, encircling an arm around her waist as the line moves up, and he presses a kiss into her shoulder. 

The shirt she’s wearing exposes slivers of skin from both of them; lean and firm with muscle and he has to resist the urge to kiss the bared skin anymore because his jeans are _tight_ and she’ll make fun of him all night. So he rubs circles into her hip where his hand sits and they move up again. 

Every time the bouncer opens the door, the music washes over them and he can already imagine the headache he’ll have tomorrow. But this is where Gamora wanted to come, to see what the dancing clubs are like he used to talk so much about, and he’s determined not to mess up their first date on Earth. 

 _I should’ve taken us to a roller skating rink,_ he thinks, as the man behind him laughs boisterously, bumping into his back again and he winces. In the cold night air, Gamora shivers slightly, and he wonders how everyone is so sweaty. 

Peter shrugs off his leather jacket and lays it across her small shoulders. On her, the shoulders sag and the sleeves are way too long, but she’ll take what she can get. Smiling, she pulls the sides together to save the heat he built up – humans produce so much heat, she’ll never understand how they don’t combust – and his palm is warm against her hip. 

Now he’s the one shivering. 

While Gamora’s outfit is elaborate, pieces borrowed from both Wanda and Natasha, the two more than eager to help her dress for their date, his is simple. A short-sleeved black shirt from Tony, light-wash jeans that are tighter than anything he’s ever worn from Sam and as always, his red leather jacket. 

He sweeps his eyes over Gamora’s outfit and reminds himself to thank whoever let her borrow those pants. 

Probably Natasha. 

A black sweater with laced long sleeves cuts off at her stomach and the skin before the hem of the black jeans is patterned with lace. _A bodysuit,_ she had told him when he blinked at her before they left, when he waited at the bottom of the stairs like he was taking her to prom. 

 _Prom_. 

He never got to go to prom. 

“You look wonderful,” he had breathed, and she had quietly smiled. 

Gamora’s hair is pulled into an elaborate updo that he doesn’t want to know how many cans of hairspray makes it stay that way. The entire way here she’d poked at it, and he understands. 

For the last couple of years, the only time her hair has been pulled back was with a braid. It’s never been pulled back this tight for this long, she much preferring to let it stream down her back. 

“Why do you keep it like that if you don’t like it?” He had asked in the car and she had smiled sheepishly. 

“I don’t want to ruin their hard work.” 

In the two weeks they’ve been on Earth to help rebuild the mess Thanos left behind she’d grown close with both Natasha and Wanda, and he’s glad. 

They haven’t been spending much time together in these past fourteen days, but he’s grateful she’s having some girl time. Whether she realizes it or not, he can see the circles under her eyes and the toll this fight has taken on her. His half-sister is the only other girl that’s regularly on the ship with them hurdling through space, so contact with people who aren’t the rowdy and (sometimes) unclean Guardians is far and few in-between. 

Natasha trains her how to use her Widow Bites, and in return Gamora gives her a few lessons on how to wield the Godslayer. Both of them tag-team in helping the Scarlet Witch with hand-to-hand combat, and he’s content to watch them spar together. 

They’re now two people from the front of the line, and Gamora grasps his wrist. “I can’t believe we have been standing here for twenty minutes just to dance,” she huffs, and he scratches his head. 

“Yeah, I don’t ever remember it taking this long.” 

Finally, _finally,_ they’re at the front of the line. The bouncer doesn’t look twice at Gamora before waving them through after glancing at the ID’s they hold out, and when he opens the door the music almost knocks Peter over. 

“It’s so _loud,”_ he whines, and Gamora turns. 

“WHAT?” 

He laughs, using the arm around her waist to pull her deeper into the dark establishment. The music is cranked up so high that the bass feels like it’s vibrating through the walls, and the changing neon lights cast shadows across their faces. 

Soon it’s her pulling him through the hallways, the music growing impossibly _louder_ with every step and he swear he can’t hear himself think. It’s common for him to play his own music loud in the Benetar, but it’s never this loud, to the point Gamora has to adjust her body mods to be able to think straight. 

“WE CAN LEAVE IF IT’S TOO LOUD,” he yells, trying to silently tell her that it’s still early enough to bail, but she shakes her head. 

Without warning, they’re in the heart of the club. It’s pitch black, the only light coming from the stand at the other end of the room that casts rays across the crowd and from the wrists of people jumping up and down. 

Bass shakes the walls and even the floor through his boots and he resists the urge to cover his ears. Next to him, Gamora is already fiddling with the panel on her neck, trying to lower the sensitivity of her ears so she doesn’t blow a circuit, and the song switches. 

He makes up his mind and pulls her into the door marked _restroom._  

Ears ringing, he breathes deeply. The door muffles the song enough that he can finally hear himself think again but when Gamora opens her mouth he can’t hear whatever comes out. He stares at her lips, confused. 

“What?” 

Her mouth stretches into a smile and when she leans close to his ear, he doesn’t have to hear her to piece together her next movements. “Thank you,” she says, and presses her lips to his. 

“My pleasure,” he gasps – or at least he thinks he gasps it, maybe he yells it, he can’t hear a damn thing regardless – but Gamora just pulls him closer and deepens the kiss. Hands on his cheeks, she tilts his head before running her tongue over the crease of his lips and he opens, arms coming around to hold her at the waist. 

Outside the bathroom, the song changes yet again, too quickly and the bass kicks back in with a fervor. But he can’t hear, can’t think because Gamora moans against his mouth and pushes them backwards until his back presses into the cold tiles between the hand-driers. Wandering hands slip under his shirt and his head spins as he pushes back, fingers grazing the swell of her chest. 

Gamora’s fingers map the muscles of his stomach, warm to the point of feverish, and she arches into his touch when he palms her breast. His fingers trace her exposed abs before finally creeping under the hem of the cropped shirt. 

Her mouth leaves him, but it’s only to grab his collar and drag him into an empty stall. Stumbling as she pushes him back, Peter waits until she’s slid the lock closed to slip his hands underneath her thighs and slam her back into the bathroom stall. 

“Payback,” he breathes into her skin and she giggles, fingers yanking at his roots. They’re drunk on each other and the pounding bass, the feeling coursing through their veins and he kisses his way down her neck. 

He’s just grasping for the clasp at the front of her bra, crop top pushed up as she writhes and gasps, scratching at his back when the bathroom door bangs open and they both _freeze._ Her legs lock in place around his hips, all movement gone and adrenaline races. 

The quiet room is suddenly brimming with noise. Although the stall in the corner provides a little shadow from the rest of the room it’s not very much, and he lowers her slowly. Gamora huffs, adjusts her top, and he mournfully pulls his own shirt back over his stomach. 

“How bad is it?” 

Peter winces as he watches the skin of her neck turn a dark green in response to his ministrations. “It’s uh…visible.” 

His girlfriend runs her fingers over her neck. “I guess we’ll wait.” 

A few feet away, a group of girls – from what she can tell, four by their voices – giggles and primps in the mirror and she groans. Peter had pulled down the lid of the toilet and sat, and she slides into his lap. 

“We’ll finish this later,” she whispers into his neck, and he muffles his moan in her hair as she giggles, “but for now, payback.” 

She lathes her tongue against his Adam’s Apple, sucking it into her mouth and biting down softly. Her kisses stray lower, into the dip that leads into his chest and when her kisses start to break skin, he closes his eyes and prays to every god he knows of that the group of girls will leave. 

Finally, blissfully, thankfully, after a few minutes of primping and him using every bit of self-restraint in his body to keep himself from doing something drastic, they leave. 

The second the bathroom closes behind them, returning them to blissful silence, Gamora starts laughing. Atop his thighs, hand up his shirt, she chuckles against his neck. “I’m impressed,” she says, leaning back to bring the hand on his chest to his cheek. “I didn’t think you could stay quiet for that long.” 

Peter feels like he’s about to burst at the seams as he looks at her. “I wasn’t sure there, at the end if I was going to make it.” 

Gamora’s lips are swollen with kisses, the deep blush blotting her cheeks and neck, and he smiles when he sees the telltale flash of silver when he looks down. Despite her starting to lean away to get up, their lower bodies are still pressed together and silver swirls under her skin, signaling he isn’t the only one affected by her actions. 

He hums, hooking his fingers in the beltloops of her jeans and pulling her back onto his lap. Disregarding her light protests, he draws her in for a soft kiss and whispers “Let’s blow this joint,” against her lips. 

She smiles into his mouth. “Agreed.” 

Somehow, no one notices them sneaking out of the woman’s bathroom together, looking like the horny delinquent teenagers they are. On the dancefloor, Peter watches as the bass beats into those wiggling in the crowd closer, until he has to look away because what they’re doing should be done in private. 

Apparently, modesty is no longer a thing. 

Stumbling back down the dark hallway and spilling into the cool night air, Gamora is still giggling. Punch-drunk with the high of arousal, she ignores the look the bouncer gives them and throws her arms out, sighing. The quiet washes over them, cleansing them from the pulsing behind them, and Peter grabs her hand. 

“I know the perfect place to go.” 

Gamora laughs quietly like their talking is a secret, and they’re off. The taxi they took here is long gone, and so they walk the three blocks to the address Peter remembers seeing online when Tony helped him plan this whole endeavor. 

A quick glance at his watch reveals it’s well past eleven, closer to twelve than the latter, and he finds he doesn’t mind. He puts his arms out, walks down the sidewalk on the edge and hums to the music Gamora seems to dancing on. She’s practically floating on air; swinging around lightpoles and twirling in circles to avoid trees and fire hydrants. 

Her hair is starting to inch loose from the bun to hang in limp curls around her face, and when she smiles back at him the overhead light from the streetlamp makes her face shine. She’s covered in a fine layer of perspiration and he grins, knowing his own curls are sticking to his forehead. 

“Hey,” he whispers, making her stop and turn. Peter smiles wider, taking the extra three steps that allows him to catch up with her – damn her longer legs – and she grins up at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you, is all,” he says sincerely and her face breaks into the happiest smile she’s ever seen. Hair falling out of her sagging bun, sleeves pushed up and his leather jacket hanging over her shoulder, he thinks she’s never been more beautiful. 

He reaches up, pulls the pins from her hair while cupping her jawline in his palm, and she’s the one that pushes closer. Standing on her tiptoes, she looks up at him, searching, before pressing her lips into his so softly he wonders if he imagines it. 

Here, in the middle of the sidewalk in a town he doesn’t know, surrounded by the sounds of crickets and the distant echoing of a dog barking, Peter falls in love all over again. Magenta locks spill over his fingers when he combs the tips through her roots and they start to walk again. 

All too soon, they’re there. 

_Sally’s Roller Rink. Open 10-3AM!_

Gamora stops, looking up at the sign. The fading lights of the sign out front that blinks _Open!_ casts shadows on the sharp line of her cheekbones and he halts with her. “What is it?” 

She just keeps looking up. “What is a roller rink?” 

Peter laughs. 

“You’ll see,” he says, opening the door and her look of confusion melts into a smirk. 

“What a gentleman.” 

She walks past him, into the lobby, and he smiles at her back. “Always.” 

This time she snorts. “Debatable.” 

He’s just gasping mockingly when there’s an excited whoop and Peter jumps with surprise. Later she’ll tease him for screaming which he’ll promptly deny doing before pulling her close and whispering _is it later yet?_

“Hi! Welcome to Sally’s Roller Rink! Y’all need skates?” 

Gamora blinks at the bubbly redhead in front of them, worn nametag reading _Hallie._ “Uh…yes?” 

Hallie claps. “Wonderful! What sizes are you?” 

She blinks again, and Peter slides his arm around her shoulder and winks at the lady, listing off his size shoe and hers. The employee disappears into the back and Gamora looks around. “It looks….well-loved.” 

Peter’s smile softens as his gaze wanders. “This reminds me of the one back home that me and mom used to go to on weekends, when they played new music and there was competitions for pair dancing.” 

“You can dance on wheels?” 

He chuckles. “Nah, me and mom never did but we’d wait for the competitions to start and grab popcorn and make wagers on who would make it to the top three. Whoever won the bet had to share their drink,” his eyes go sad at the edges, “and looking back, she always let me win no matter who won the competition.” 

She leans into him as the curtain parts and Hallie reappears. “Found them!” 

Setting them down on the counter, she gestures to a bench nearby. “I’ll take your shoes if you want, if not you can put them in the cubbies. I’ll go in the back and turn the music back on if you guys want – any requests? You’re the only ones here so I think I can bend the rules a little bit.” 

“Seventies,” Gamora says, sliding her hand into Peter’s as she takes the pair of boots on the left. “He quite likes the oldies.” 

Hallie doesn’t even blink. “Perfect! Be right back.” 

She does everything but skip off, and she’s about to disappear behind the curtain when she turns back around. “If you want anything to eat, just holler,” she winks, “it’s on the house for the cute couple with matching hickies.” 

Before either of them can blush or argue that it’s not exactly what she thinks it is, Hallie closes the curtain. Gamora looks up at Peter, dark green blush still splattered across her nose, and laughs. “There’s no point in lying.” 

“I guess not,” he chuckles, grabbing his own pair of skates. 

“Now, show me how these work. Do people really walk on wheels?” 

. 

Too stubborn to let Peter show her how to lace them up, it takes more than a couple of minutes for them to actually get to the rink. The wooden floors are rubbed smooth, a worn ring near the perimeter from years of use and they’re just pushing open the door when the overhead speakers crackle to life. 

Peter smiles. 

“This is a good one,” he exclaims, and pulls her onto the rink. 

She stumbles immediately. The wheels seem to be working directly against her and one leg splays out while she catches herself on her other knee. Peter’s still holding her and she gets shakily to her feet when she realizes he’s _laughing at her._

“I’m sorry babe,” he laughs, forcing words out between bouts of mirth. “You’re just too funny.” 

She growls playfully. “Help me up, idiot.” 

The first lap around the rink is shaky and her holding onto his forearms for dear life. It seems every three seconds her skates decide to give out. If it wasn’t for Peter in front of her, giving little tips and adjusting his balance to make sure she doesn’t fall again, she’s positive she would’ve wiped out in the worst way possible. 

Gamora is the fiercest woman in the galaxy, and she can’t even _skate._

Their second completed lap is smoother, quickly followed by a third and a fourth and by the fifth, she’s standing on her own. So they take the rink in slow circles, Peter sometimes branching off to show off a trick that she won’t even _attempt_ to try, and when he comes back around, she takes his hand. 

“Thank you,” she hums, barely heard over the staticy song filtering in above, “for the best first date on Earth.” 

Peter’s returning smile is soft, the lines around his mouth and eyes smoothing out. He comes to a stop and lets her momentum bring her ever closer until every part of their bodies fits together. 

“To many more,” he breathes, and it’s him this time that bends down to slot their lips together.

Around them, the roller rink is quiet and the speakers pop. Floorboards creak when they roll across them, and the unbalanced popcorn machine whirs and explodes kernels that rain down. The disco ball above them turns languidly, reflecting little pieces of light across their faces when they pull back, glimmering off her scars and the zipper on his leather jacket. 

“Race you,” she says into his mouth, and takes off. 

Peter roars, chasing after the stream of magenta hair that makes his heart leap, and she shrikes when he – inevitability– catches up with her. He throws her over his shoulder, laughing when she rains down closed fists on his back, and later kisses the butter off her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> pls come yell with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/starrymora) or [tumblr](http://nymphrea.tumblr.com/) about how much you miss them because i certainly do


End file.
